![[user46392]](/img/avatars/avatar.svg){kind=avatar}
| Player | Chips | Progress |
|---|---|---|
|
4,380,000
-70,000
|
-70,000 |
|
2,200,000
300,000
|
300,000 |
|
1,600,000
670,000
|
670,000 |
|
1,250,000
250,000
|
250,000 |
|
980,000
-150,000
|
-150,000 |
|
||
The TD had to ask Jason Hallee's rail, who were still hanging around, drinking beer and chatting, to quieten down a little so those still in the tournament could concentrate.
"But we're French-Canadian," came the excuse.
They've gone now, and this is a much less rowdy, although perhaps less fun, final for their absence.
We're now on a 20-minute break.
Everyone's back from break but Messrs. Griner and Ellis, and the TD is threatening to start without them if they're not back in a couple minutes.
If you see Mr. Griner or Mr. Ellis in the hallway, do please direct them to the final table.
Level: 27
Blinds: 30,000/60,000
Ante: 5,000
Messrs. Griner and Ellis have been found ("I was just gonna take your chips off the table..." the TD casually lied) and cards are back in the air.
| Player | Chips | Progress |
|---|---|---|
|
|
4,600,000
220,000
|
220,000 |
|
|
2,678,000
478,000
|
478,000 |
|
|
1,200,000
-50,000
|
-50,000 |
|
|
1,200,000
-400,000
|
-400,000 |
|
|
1,095,000
115,000
|
115,000 |
|
|
||
First hand back, Martin Jacobson shoved, but the EPT Budapest finalist got no callers and just picked up the blinds and antes.
"That's what I'm talking about, Jacobson!" came a cry from the rail.
Mike Ellis raised to 170,000 in the cutoff and Christopher Gonzales called on the button. They saw a flop.
Flop: 
Ellis bet out 225,000 - but Gonzales, cool as the Pavilion Room at 4am with the air con blasting, raised all in to cover. Ellis gave it some serious thought but eventually opted to fold. He was left with around 700,000 after that.
David Wilkinson raised his button to 155,000 and Billy Griner called in the small blind. Over to Martin Jacobson in the big blind, who pushed all in. Wilkinson got out of there as fast as he could, but Griner took his time before folding pocket threes up.
"Gwaaann, Swede boy!" called a railer as Jacobson took the pot.
